


Tonight

by Bibanana



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Asexual Sherlock Holmes, Cuddling & Snuggling, I don't know if I will continue it, Inspired by Let's Fall in Love for the Night by FINNEAS, Kissing, Kissing and cuddling, M/M, Secret Relationship, ace!sherlock, controlling relationship, song inspiration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:02:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23792035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bibanana/pseuds/Bibanana
Summary: Sherlock is the only thing that John wants and if this is the only way that John can have him, then it has to be enough.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just an idea I had while listening to Let's Fall in Love for the Night by FINNEAS (and supposed to be working).

John was propped up, slightly uncomfortably next to Sherlock on the bed, yet never happier.

“Sherlock.” John breathed, caressing Sherlock’s cheekbone. “I love you so much.” And he meant it. He meant it more than anything he had ever said before. The world was so confusing, always forcing people to conform to a certain label. Ever since Sherlock had sauntered into his life, a whirl of witty words and mysterious cheekbones and long coat, flying out behind him like a superhero’s cape, his world was constantly being flipped around, but this, _this_ was the one thing he was absolutely sure of.

Sherlock, as always, didn’t respond. He never responded when John said that. Instead, he moved John’s fingers to his mouth. Gently. Oh, so, gently. He handled John’s rough, calloused fingers like they were the only thing that mattered, like they were made of snow and could melt away at any moment. John moved from the halfway-sitting position he was in, to put his head down on Sherlock’s chest. He listened to steady, quick, beats while using his free hand to stroke Sherlock’s silky, dark curls.

John’s heart swelled, larger than he would have thought healthy, when Sherlock said his name.

“John.” He murmured into John’s fingers. That one syllable carried so much meaning when it rolled off of Sherlock’s tongue. His voice was deep and smooth, like the richest of chocolates. When Sherlock spoke, it was all John could hear. Everything else faded away and John just wanted to lose himself with that voice, sounding so sure of himself, yet underneath seeking approval just like anyone else. John was an insignificant nobody, but when Sherlock addressed him, he felt important.

Sherlock turned his head to face John and John was struck once again, by just how stunning those eyes were. Those eyes, so full of life and knowledge. Those eyes that seemed to contain all the secrets to the universe.

Sherlock was definitely the most beautiful human being that had ever graced the earth. And John, a certified doctor, could confirm that as scientific fact, it wasn’t just an opinion.

John inhaled, consuming everything about that moment. It was times like this that he wished he had a mind palace to store memories in. Because times like this didn’t happen very often. Tomorrow, they would go out and solve a case. When they returned home, John would go to bed and Sherlock would stay up for god knows how long, playing his violin. Because he’s Sherlock bloody Holmes and he doesn’t need sleep. They wouldn’t kiss, or even maintain eye contact for very long (before their first kiss, when it was all unresolved tension and unspoken words, all they did was stare at each other, trying to convey all of their thoughts through eye contact. Those days were long over.) until maybe a month later, when _this_ happened again. John never kissed first, it was always Sherlock. Whenever John tried to move in, Sherlock pulled away. So John stopped trying. It became a silent rule, part of the routine.

No one, not even Mycroft knew what happened behind the closed doors of 221b Baker Street. Sherlock had made sure of that. (Not to suggest anything dirty went on. They never went further than kissing and cuddling.) They weren’t a couple, or anything. Just two friends who loved each other like the fate of the universe depended on it. Or, at least, John loved Sherlock that way.

Sherlock never responded.

But John was happy, because this was what he wanted, wasn’t it? He sometimes asked himself that question, the question of what he wanted, and only ever came up with one answer: _Sherlock_.

He wanted Sherlock, and that’s it. He wanted Sherlock and nothing else. So if this was the way he got Sherlock, then he would take it and not complain. Because, having Sherlock like this was better than not having Sherlock at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they visit Mycroft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try to keep the updates to every Wednesday. However, updates on multi-chapter fics have never been regular for me, so I apologize in advance if there is nothing by then.

“John.”

Sherlock was leaning over John, lightly nudging him awake. Sunlight was streaming through from between the curtains, creating a stunning gold outline around the silhouetted Sherlock, whose face was just above John’s. His inky locks were reflecting the light and he smelled of coffee. John grinned while his brain tried to catch up. John sat up, realizing that Sherlock was wearing his coat and in the midst of tying his scarf.

“Where are you going? What time is it?” Dread filled John’s chest. He didn’t want to let Sherlock go yet, didn’t want to share him. Couldn’t they, just once, have a calm morning with whistling kettles and kisses on cheeks, ruffling Sherlock’s dripping hair after a morning shower. Oh, god, Sherlock  _ with wet hair _ . Even darker than it’s usual ebony shade, hanging down down past his ears, sticking to the side of his face-

“Mycroft wanted to speak with me.” Sherlock wrinkled his nose at his brother’s name. “Both of us, actually. Get changed, there’s a car on the way.”

“Mm.” John acknowledged with a yawn. “Ah, I’ll just, go get ready.” He awkwardly walked out of Sherlock’s bedroom and hurried up the stairs to his own, the scarlet blush creeping up his cheeks that always followed a night in Sherlock’s warmth. He felt Sherlock’s eyes following him until he was out of sight.

Once he made it inside, he checked his mobile phone. It read 10:23. Miracle Sherlock hadn’t woken him already. There was one missed call from Mycroft and three messages:

**_Bill Murray:_ ** _ how r u doing, watson? i hardly hear from u anymore x _

**_Harry Watson:_ ** _ Hey Johnny. Call me sometime. Miss you xxx _

**_Mycroft Holmes:_** _Hello Dr. Watson. Sherlock is failing to answer his phone. Would you do me the_ _kind favour of telling him that I need to speak with him? Much appreciated, M._ _Holmes. xx_

John opened the door a crack to yell down, “Sherlock! Maybe you want to actually respond to your brother?”

“Why would I do that? The goal is to speak to him the least I can!” Sherlock called back. John could practically hear his eyes rolling.  _ Obviously _ .

John decided against a jumper, going with a shirt nice enough for Mycroft, but not too nice to suggest that he was making an effort. He strided down the stairs, oddly confident. After feeling Sherlock’s lips brush across his face the night before, he felt as though he could take on anything.

Downstairs, Sherlock was seated sideways in his armchair with his legs draped over the armrest, plucking idly at his violin strings. “Took you long enough.”

“Shall we go?” John took his coat off the rack and opened the front door.

True to his word, a shiny, black car, that looked like it cost more than their flat, awaited them. Sherlock opened the car door and sat down inside, sliding over to make room for John. On the very far side, next to Sherlock, sat Anthea, scrolling lazily through her mobile.

“Hello.” John said as the car pulled away from the curb, mostly out of politeness. 

Sherlock hadn’t spared her so much as a glance, so John thought it was only fair to acknowledge her existence. His interest in her had long past; there was only one person who he could imagine loving, and he burned brighter than the sun, making everyone else look like a dull, gray shadow. “We met, couple years back.”

Her eyes stayed trained on the screen.

“Margret.” Sherlock cut in, tugging at the scarf around his neck. “I believe that John is talking to you.

_ Margret. _ John thought, somewhat triumphantly.  _ So  _ that’s _ her name _ .

She gave a small, exasperated exhale, not quite large enough to be a sigh, and looked John in the eye, an amused smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Hi. I don’t remember you at all. Mr. Holmes has a lot of passengers. Although I suppose I should start remembering you if you’re so close with his brother.”

John looked at Sherlock. “Yeah, I suppose you should.”

Anthea  Margret flashed another smile, and went back to her phone.

Sherlock turned to face John, keeping his voice low, though he doubted it would prevent the present company from overhearing. “Mycroft suspects something. He’s going to try to get you to tell him. Don’t. He has nothing to suspect.”

John blinked. “What?”

Sherlock ignored him, twisting to face forward once more. He leaned over and rested his chin lightly atop his steepled fingers, his face going placid. John knew that any further questions would pass right over his head.

Eventually, the car pulled up at the Diogenes Club. John thanked the driver and Sherlock turned his coat collar up, his eyes becoming cold and concentrated. John sighed, watching the detective put his walls up. It always broke his heart to see Sherlock become so reserved, but he couldn’t be expected to let his guard down when encountering Mycroft. He couldn’t be expected to let his guard down when encountering anyone, other than John.

Sherlock signed to a man standing at a desk: ‘ _ We are here to see Mycroft Holmes’. _ His fingers moved swiftly, up and down, back and forth, and John struggled to keep up. You would think he had been signing all his life. Maybe he had.

‘ _ Mr. Holmes doesn’t take visitors’. _ The man responded, experienced, but not as impressive as Sherlock. No one was as impressive as Sherlock.

Sherlock let out a frustrated huff, earning a glare from the desk man. John lifted his own hands. ‘ _ He has requested us. This is his brother, Sherlock Holmes’. _

Sherlock looked at John in surprise. John merely shrugged. He’d had non verbal patients before, so he had to pick some things up. The man apologized and pointed them in the direction of Mycroft’s room.

“Doctor Watson.” Mycroft greeted pleasantly as they entered the room, motioning them to take a seat. “And Sherlock.”

John sat down in a chair across from him. “Mycroft, please. I’ve known you for years, you can call me John.”

Mycroft gave a thin smile. “Alright then,  _ John _ . Sherlock, for the sake of god, take a seat. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Sherlock muttered something about God being a ludicrous fantasy, but sat down. “What is it, Mycroft?” Sherlock said, mimicking the tone of an impatient child. “We haven’t got all day.”

Mycroft leaned forward in his own chair and looked John square in the eyes. “You are a good doctor,  _ John _ , a responsible man.”

John shifted uncomfortably in his seat, stealing a glance at Sherlock. Sherlock’s face was smoothed over, unreadable.  _ The bloody genius. _ John thought.  _ Could have been a Hollywood star.  _ “Yes. I believe I am fairly responsible.”

Mycroft raised one eyebrow in a perfect arc. “Fairly?”

John looked at Sherlock again. “Well, no one is perfect.” He gave a hesitant chuckle.

Sherlock opened his mouth, sparing John. “Mycroft, what exactly is the point of all this?”

“I’m merely checking in. I worry about you, Sherlock, and I want to have a  _ chat _ with the man that you spend so much time with.”

Sherlock scoffed. “A chat. Wonderful. Did you wake up early this morning to practice in front of the mirror?”

“This isn’t a time for jokes, brother mine.”

“I have lived with John for over two years.” Sherlock said, sounding bored. “I think we have established that he isn’t a concern to my safety.”

“Wonderful.” Mycroft sneered.

“Yes. Wonderful.” Sherlock responded, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “May we go?”

“No, I’m not finished chatting.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened in faux terror. “Dear god, there’s more?”

John couldn’t help but smile, just a bit, to himself at how brotherly the two of them were. They may claim to hate the other, but they had something that he could never dream to have with Harry. They would take a bullet for each other while spitting insults.

Mycroft ignored Sherlock’s horrified expression. “You live with John. You solve crimes with John. He follows you everywhere like a loyal puppy.”

John gave a terse laugh. “Now hold on-

“No disrespect, Doctor Watson.” He interrupted. He continued, “The two of you regard each other as… flatmates?”

“Friends?” Sherlock looked to John for approval. John offered a small smile.  _ Just friends? Well I suppose, if we don’t want Mycroft to know. Do we? Do we want anyone to know? _

“Friends.” Mycroft repeated in confirmation. “Not anything more?”

“What more would he be to me?” Sherlock asked smoothly.

“Oh, nothing, my dear brother.” Mycroft didn’t sound fully convinced. “You are just good friends.”

John opened his mouth, but closed it again, thinking better of saying anything Sherlock didn’t want him to.

Mycroft didn’t miss it. “Do you have anything to add, Doctor, er, John?”

“No. Sorry. Nothing to add.”

“Alright. If you need anything, just call. You may go.”

Sherlock stood up quickly, looking relieved. John walked to the door, holding it open for Sherlock, but Mycroft held up his hand. “John, you can go ahead. May I have a moment with Sherlock?”

John looked at Sherlock who looked annoyed but nodded. “Um. Okay. I’ll just wait in the car, then.” He exited the room, closing the door behind him.

After a moment, Sherlock whirled to face Mycroft. “ _ What _ do you  _ want _ , Mycroft?”

Sherlock was surprised to find Mycroft’s eyes were filled with genuine concern. “I need to know that you’re being safe.”

“What?”

“I don’t mind you having a relationship with Doctor Watson, but I need to know that you are taking necessary precautions.”

Sherlock’s expression darkened. “You know that nothing is happening between us. You know what I am.”

“What you are? Sherlock, that was the guesses of a sixteen year old boy! A child!”

“Nothing’s changed!”

“Hasn’t it? That was before you found someone that understood you. Before you understood yourself. Before your brain was even fully developed.”

“I am not sleeping with John. In that way.” Sherlock seethed. “I will never with him, or anyone else. I am not like you or Mummy or Daddy. I am not like roughly ninety-nine percent of the population.”

“It does not make you a monster.” Mycroft said softly. “Asexuality is not a bad thing. And you are not incapable of love.”

Sherlock put his hand on the door handle and clutched it tightly. His knuckles hurt. “Goodbye Mycroft. I hope I won’t be hearing anymore of your  _ concern _ .”

Mycroft looked a little sad, but didn’t stop Sherlock as he stomped out of the room, reminding him so much of the little boy he used to be.

True to his word, John was waiting in the car, tapping away on his mobile. Margret was gone. John looked up as Sherlock sat down next to him, pocketing his phone. “What did he want?”

Sherlock turned to the window, trying to ignore the edge in John’s voice. “Nothing. He’s nosy git.”

“Sherlock,” John started tentatively, not wanting to upset Sherlock, who was obviously already tense. “Why didn’t you want your brother to know?”

“Know what?” Sherlock looked distant, detached, answering without any emotion.

John grit his teeth and continued. “Know… that we are more than just friends, like you said.”

“Are we?” Sherlock’s voice was a monotone, his face expressionless.

John took a breath. “Well, we kiss and cuddle, in a way that friends normally don’t.”

“They don’t, do they.” He stated it like it was an entirely new concept. “I wouldn’t know, I’ve never had one.”

John struggled to keep his temper. “You think that we are just friends, who do all that. You honestly don’t think of me as anything more than a friend.”

“Friend.” Sherlock mused, turning his head to the window. “A manmade construct. A useless label. What does it mean, to think of somebody as a friend?”

“Sherlock.” John’s voice was shaking. “Look at me. Look at me, and tell me what we are.”

Sherlock met John’s eyes. “John, I’m sorry. I truly am. Can we please just go back to what we were doing before? I would like that very much.”

_ I wouldn’t. _ John thought, surprised by his own decisiveness.  _ I hate it. I hate  _ this _. I hate going back and forth so quickly. I hate being caught in the middle of lovers and flatmates. I hate not having a proper answer. _

But Sherlock’s eyes were wide pleading and  _ goddammit,  _ just so bloody beautiful. It was like a spell, a trance of sorts, and John found himself saying. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. For now. I think I would like that too.”

Sherlock smiled and John didn’t regret his words. Maybe he would later, but he would never take them back. He would say anything to see Sherlock’s face light up in the way that it does when he smiles.

_ I love you. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have nothing else to say, I just wanted to put end notes. Hope you enjoyed! <3

**Author's Note:**

> It says completed for now because I have no idea if I will continue it. Please comment if you think I should do another/more chapter(s).


End file.
